The 452 Files
by LynnAgate
Summary: Ficlet one-shots totalling 452 words each. Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee. For entertainment purposes only.
1. Lie To Me

"Lie to me, Max," Alec began, "and tell me everything is alright." They were standing at opposite ends of her kitchen, arguing again. He knew she was about to cry by the sheer fact she could no longer look him in the eye.

He was tired of and worried by her nonchalant behavior and cold shoulder conversations. If there was anyone who could come remotely close to understanding her, it had to be Alec. Hell, he'd spent the last two years in Seattle being chased around by Manticore alum and White and the familiars, and dodging smacks to the back of his head because of her.

Every day since the murder, she'd come to work completely closed off. Even Normal was surprised when she showed the day after, and though very understanding, commented on her lack of sassy remarks.

And every day, every time Alec tried to talk to her alone, or ask after her, she'd say everything was alright.

Max realized that's all she'd been doing – lying to Alec. But she had her reasons – denial, mostly. If she didn't recognize it, it must not be real, right? Wasn't she a soldier, meant to compartmentalize stuff like this? No continual dosage of therapy or Psy-Ops could erase those pleading eyes, begging her to intervene and stop White.

It had already been a week of riding alone, sticking to alleys and back streets so she could run the evens over in her mind, choosing a different action and end result each time. She was tired of holding it all in, and tired of feeling alone – feeling this alone. She no longer cared who saw her cry. She looked up to Alec, one tear breaking the dam and creating a path down her cheek.

"That's what I thought," Alec said, bridging the gap between them and embracing her in a one-sided hug. They sank to the floor, Max breaking down on the way, and she allowed him to hold her, even though she lost all energy and felt like a ragdoll.

She cried hard, at the end of which Alec picked her up and deposited her into her bed. He turned toward the door.

"Please don't leave," she said drearily, and with a look in her eyes that suggested she would unravel without him.

Alec turned to her, a softness developing in his eyes. He took off his boots and jacket, leaving them by her nightstand. He then positioned himself on her bed, sitting against the headboard, and invited her to lay her head on his chest. He wrapped one arm carefully around her, as if she could break any further, and swept her hair from her puffy face.

"I'm sorry Original Cindy's gone."


	2. Don't Lie to Me

Alec had been acting strange for days, skipping beats like an abused record, letting wise-crack opportunities pass him by. Max hadn't playfully slapped him for saying something inappropriate or full of innuendo in a couple of days. Even Normal's deifying couldn't seem to lift his spirits. Something was wrong.

"Hey, boo," Original Cindy started, taking out her messenger bag from her locker. "What's up wit' cha boy?"

Max closed her locker and fastened her gloves securely. "He's not my boy, OC," she began, "and, I don't know. He's been weird for a couple of days."

Original Cindy slipped on her knit hat and walked by dispatch. Normal handed her a package, and she tossed a glance over her shoulder. "Maybe you should find out the dealio," she said. "See you at lunch."

As Original Cindy left, Max looked over to Alec, who was militantly stuffing packages into his pack. She approached Normal. "Hey, where's Alec goin' today?" she asked in a hushed tone.

Normal spied her carefully. "Sector eight," he eventually said.

"Load me up on sector eight," Max said, stretching out her hands.

"No way, Missy Miss," Normal said, adjusting his glasses. "I'm not sending you out with him; you'll just upset him more."

"I promise, I only want to know what's wrong," Max defended. "Maybe I can help him."

A few minutes later, Max and Alec were out the door, headed to sector eight.

"Everything okay?" Max asked, once they were relatively alone. "You've been kinda depressed. I've been kinda worried.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Alec said, giving Max what he thought was a reassuring smile, but was really that same Manticore mask she had worn when she didn't want to get to the details of whatever was bothering her.

"Alec, I'm your friend. Don't lie to me and tell me everything's alright. I know better," Max tried to offer a comforting look, but he wouldn't even look at her.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" he said, matter-of-factly. He rode ahead of her and she sped to catch up. _Why can't she just drop this?_

They rode through an alley and Max maneuvered in front of him, then turned her bike sideways as if to roadblock him. "Alec, please tell me what's wrong."

Finally, his tired eyes caught hers, wide with concern.

"Did you bribe Normal for sector eight packages?" he asked.

Max pressed her lips, refusing to answer, which was answer enough for him.

"Max, when I said I don't want to talk about it, it's because nothing can be done."

"It's Rachel, isn't it?" Max studied his face. His eyes seemed watery, but he would never let a drop fall.

"She died one year ago today."


	3. I Don't Belong to You

She'd been doing more than her share of Eyes Only missions lately. Sure, she was Logan's friend, and he had offered to help her find her brothers and sisters in exchange for a little legwork, but now their quid pro quo didn't seem to be at the forefront of the man's mind. Maybe she could take a break once in a while to live her life, have some dinner like they used to. Max's mouth watered at the thought of Pasta Tricolore and a pre-pulse wine, remembering a time when the retrovirus wasn't even a twinkle in some Manticore geek's eye.

No, instead her interactions with the old-money cyber-journalist were relegated to gallivanting about town at oh-dark-thirty, fighting the good fight on an empty stomach. _Like tonight_, she thought, looking over her shoulder at Alec.

"Max, you know you don't _have_ to continue this ridiculous charade of being in love with Logan. Just admit you want me." Alec laughed at his own joke.

They were riding her ninja back to Logan's after a successful recon mission, which landed them square in a mud pit. Both transgenics looked as though they were on the third week of a shower strike, dirt-caked and wet in all the right crevasses in all the wrong ways.

At the towers, Max and Alec headed up to Logan's penthouse. Alec let himself and Max in. As they rounded the corner to his office, Logan asked, "How'd it go?" He looked up from his screen to see the two muddy figures standing in the doorway.

"Just peachy," Alec said.

"Two guards at each entrance, with alternating change times, seven digit entrance code 6, 7, 9, 4, 8, 5, 7," she said. Logan took the numbers down. Max continued, "And there's a giant pit of mud on the other side of the fence."

Logan laughed.

"How about a 'thank you for doing all the work, Max and Alec, since there's no way I could do this myself, what with being an ordinary'?" Alec asked.

"Of course, thanks, guys," Logan said returning to his screen. "According to my contact, you should be okay to break in and grab those discs tomorrow night around eight thirty."

Max scoffed. Logan looked back toward the bar-coded girl. "What?"

"Logan, I'm not your personal spy, you know." She folded her arms.

Logan looked offended. "Well, yeah, you kinda are. Why are you all the sudden not interested in our deal?"

Alec stepped back, fully aware of the shovel Logan had just used to dig himself into a grave, and fully aware of Max's short fuse at the suggestion that she was someone's property.

Anger burned in her eyes. "You're wrong. I don't belong to you."


	4. Don't Act Like I Never Told Ya

"Max, come over later," Alec said, eyebrows raised suggestively. "I'll give you the greatest pleasure you've ever known."

Original Cindy laughed, having overheard this from another aisle of lockers. She poked her head around the corner and saw Max, backed up against her locker, Alec leaning over her and looking down at her predatorily. _What the hell is wrong with Max?_ she asked herself. Then she saw Max smile, almost blush.

"Okay," Max said. The two transgenics smiled at one another. Alec, satisfied that Max would do what he asked, turned to go talk to Normal.

Original Cindy could not believe her ears. She stepped into the aisle and wound her arm back, ready to throw a punch. Before she could strike, Max caught her fist.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Max asked.

"I was just about to ask you the same question, boo," Original Cindy replied. "If you just heard what I heard, then you'd know that you in heat. I'm supposed to hit you really, really hard." OC wound her arm back again, intending to hit her friend.

"It's not what you think," Max said, watching Alec request some time off for himself and Max. "I gotta blaze."

At Alec's apartment later that night, Max sat on his kitchen island, her face slightly flushed after the night's events.

"I didn't know it could be like that!" Max said with a devilish grin on her face. She licked her lips and eyed Alec suspiciously.

"Oh, you liked it?"

"Yeah, it was really, really good. The only thing is: why do my lips feel so sticky?" Max raised her fingertips to her lips and padded them.

"Probably because you tried to fit the whole thing in your mouth at once!" Alec responded, chuckling.

Max looked down guiltily. "Why didn't you tell me you had such a talent?" Max raised her eyebrows in appreciation.

"I told you this morning," he defended. "Don't act like I never told ya." Alec smiled, pleased to see her satisfied.

"As the resident tomcat, I'd have thought you wanted to make all the women purr." Max looked down at his equipment.

Alec noticed her staring. "You want some more?"

Her eyes lit up again. "Yes, please."

"Are you sure? You're gonna be up all night."

"Is that a promise?" Max asked.

"You were right, Alec," Max said after the second serving. "That was the greatest pleasure I've ever known!" She paused momentarily. "How did you get chocolate in this economy?"

"You got a little…" Alec trailed, "smudge of maple syrup on your cheek." He stepped close to her and rubbed it off with his thumb, then licked his thumb clean. "So you love my chocolate banana pancakes?"


	5. Are You Ugly?

It was a small gym in the middle of Terminal City, and Alec had been alone there for hours, beating the old dusty punching bag until he wore a hole in it. It was as if that one threadbare section of the bag had been his exact target.

Alec, on the other hand was a mess. His hair was matted to his scalp. His muscles were taught and sweaty – he had lost the shirt hours before and stood straight in front of Max like a soldier, with jeans and boxing gloves and nothing else as his uniform.

"Alec!"

"You called me a liar, Max," he said, his voice nearly cracking with emotion, not breaking his workout as he explained. "I'm not a liar." He spun the bag so the hole faced the other direction, and started in on the punching again.

Max's eyes started to water.

Alec stopped striking the bag for a moment, and looked to her again. "You said I'm bitter and angry, and that I don't care about anyone but myself."

"I know, Alec, I know what I said." Max folded her arms.

Alec pressed his lips together and tilted his head in frustration. She wasn't even sorry. He turned back to the bag and began punching it again, really hard.

"Alec!" Max shouted over the punching, but he didn't stop. "Alec!" she called again. Again, he didn't stop. Max stepped behind the bag and held it between them. He still kept punching.

It was only after she hugged the bag to her body that he flinched and prevented himself from completing the punch.

"Damn it, Max!" he yelled. He turned and walked a couple of steps away from her, then turned to face her again. He wasn't about to hit the bag if it meant he'd be fighting her through it.

"You said I was ugly, Max." Alec had to look away as he said this.

Max's eyes enlarged with guilt, more tears making their way to her ducts. She had said the thing he had feared the most.

He continued, "Yes, I admit I have done some pretty despicable things in the name of Manticore, and on top of that, I'm apparently also a lying, bitter, angry, and selfish person."

Max let slip a stream of tears. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean it."

"Is that because you realized you do the same things? Lying, taking your frustrations out on others because you're bitter and angry? You spend all your time being selfish, trying to save everyone."

Max's face scrunched up, crying more.

"But I think you're like me. Are you like me, Max? A liar like me? Are you ugly?"

"Yes," she answered simply, leaving.


	6. Spin

Max steeled against the brick wall, waiting for the impact. She knew the gangster's intentions as he raised the gun and pointed it toward Alec. Red-Gun, or whatever stupid name he had chosen for himself, had threatened Alec that he would shoot Max if Alec didn't give them what they wanted. But he didn't have what they wanted. Neither transgenic even knew what a Honey Dollop was supposed to be. They could only guess.

"Max," Alec whispered, "Get ready to move."

_How does he have a plan? _she asked herself. _We are outnumbered, held up against the wall by a gang with the leader of the gang pointing a very real gun at my very real head, and he thinks he has a plan._

The gangster squeezed the trigger and the bullet shot out. Max immediately began running, even with her hands cuffed behind her back, she could still blur. With her eyes open wide, she tried to see where on her body they had hit her, but nothing appeared to be shot. Suddenly, she heard him.

"Go to that place we used that one time," Alec rushed. It was a kind of code between them. They had grown accustomed to going on Eyes Only missions together. _Better in numbers,_ he had said. They'd been working together for just under a year.

He was referring to the empty cabin in the woods they stumbled across last summer after the yacht job. They had to lay low for a day or so while Logan found a way to extract them. They could do the same thing this time.

They both blurred into the deep thrush, branches and bushes and twigs snapping as they ran, slapping them in the face and arms as they passed, eager to get to safety.

She noticed his breathing getting heavier, deeper, as they neared the structure.

When they reached the door, she turned so her hands could grasp the knob and muscle the door open. She saw he was bloodied. He wheezed sickly, slamming his shoulder into the doorway.

Inside, she closed the door behind them and sat on the floor, bringing her cuffed hands around under her legs and out in front of her. She immediately attended to Alec.

"Where!" she shouted. "Where were you hit?"

Alec winced and lowered his head in the direction of his wound. Max raised his shirt and saw the bullet hole, blood trickling out. "Spinning. It's all part of the joyride."

"What?" Max asked, getting ready to extract the bullet and clean him up.

"I'm really dizzy," he said, his eyes rolling back.

She helped him lay flat against the floorboards. "You blocked that bullet. Why?"

"I'd spin around you forever."


	7. Destiny

Max lay in the hotel bed, feeling smooth against the cold sheets. She would normally wear her shorts and tank top to sleep, but after the long mission tonight and the long bubble bath that followed, she had slipped on the terry-cloth robe and pinned her hair up, padding around the room in search of something to do. _I'm not tired_, she thought.

She thought about the mission: Logan had asked her to attend the conference held at the Pearl Hotel and infiltrate the hotel room of the guest speaker, Dr. Brett Bartholomew. She would copy the information from his hard drive and deliver it to Logan the next morning. The hotel stay would be on him. She could have a proper bath and a good night's sleep, he had said.

At the mixer, Max had worn a sexy mid-thigh, off-the shoulder dress with stilettos, her silken hair loosely pinned back, falling down past her shoulders. If this guy had a pulse, she would turn on the witty charm, attempt to attract him, and while he was distracted, slip her hand into his pocket and lift his hotel key. It would have worked if the speaker was attracted to women. Unfortunately for her, he did not find her womanly wiles enticing.

She had called in back-up. _No power on this earth_, Alec had said. But he showed up just as she had asked, in the tuxedo, looking like a young James Bond. He downed a couple of flutes of champagne before speaking with the doctor in muted suggestion. Max would bump into him suddenly and lift the hotel key from Alec, run up to the doctor's room and copy the hard drive.

Except when she bumped into Alec, he spun her out onto the dance floor and held her intoxicatingly close, pulling her hand up to his chest, where it appeared he wanted it to stay, as he made no motions or hesitations to move it. His hand was warm over hers, and his breath tickled at her neck, and he smelled so good. She closed her eyes for just a moment, relishing in this moment.

He stopped leading and they came to a still. Something new occurred to Alec, his eyebrows twisted up as he focused his stare into her eyes. There was a carnal danger in his eyes. At that moment, anywhere his eyes landed immediately filled with heat and fire. He had cupped her cheek and leaned in, his breath hot on her lips.

He had almost kissed her. "Go. Complete the mission," he had whispered.

And she had.

Now, she lay in the enveloping bed, stark naked, trying to figure out why the sheets were not his lips.


	8. Feelin' Good

Original Cindy insisted that Max see a beach at least once in her genetically engineered life, and even convinced Normal to give them three consecutive days off for the trip to California.

Max had only seen sand once before – during training at Manticore they'd been tested for speed running through sand. But it was sand that had been brought indoors: cold and plain.

When they reached California, Max was surprised at how little clothing people were wearing. It was wonderfully balmy outside and she'd suddenly felt overdressed in all black. Definitely a far cry from typical Seattle weather.

She saw women in bikinis, men in swim trunks and no shirts – they were tan. She thought back to her fight in the ring with Alec. He was as toned or more toned than these guys, but he lacked the deep tan they all seemed to have.

Eventually Original Cindy parked along PCH and she and Max carried their towels down the stairs to the golden sand and beautiful blue surf.

She watched as a couple of other groups settled 30 or 40 feet back form the waves and began to undress. Everyone seemed completely unashamed to take their clothes off with everyone else in eyesight. She returned her attention to ORIGINAL CINDY, who had already laid her towel out and removed her top. "Girl, you gonna burn up if you don't start losin' the threads," she warned.

Max began removing her jacket and top. Original Cindy had picked out a bikini – the first one Max had worn her whole life. And until now, she hadn't understood why you'd put it on before you got there. Max's bright orange bikini complemented her exotic olive skin tone perfectly, and already she noticed the extra attention she received from the surrounding men. She looked to ORIGINAL CINDY with a smile.

"Told ya, girl!" she said, and lowered onto her towel.

Max shimmied out of her pants and felt the warmth of the California sun. It was amazing. She could feel her skin basking in the sunshine. Was it the feline DNA?

She lay back on her towel and relaxed, letting the sun soak into her skin and her toes dig into the warm sand.

In the sky, seagulls floated on the breeze lazily, occasionally dipping down onto the sand for a crumb of something to eat. The people even seemed to be good spirits – playing games, playing in the water and interacting with one another.

She saw a couple shaded by a big umbrella near them. The man was smoothing suntan oil over the woman. It was almost sensual, and it made her think of Alec's skillful hands.

Max closed her eyes. _Now this is freedom_.


	9. Penitence

The last time he saw her, he was walking out of her life. It was two years ago, after Asha died, and Logan retreated into his "Fortress of Solitude" to plan some hair-brained scheme regarding some nerdy revenge. He had asked for her help, doing the legwork on the multi-part scheme, and she had obliged.

That was what pissed him off the most. How could she do this for him after Asha died trying to do the very same thing, _for him_? Was there no mountain too high? Did she think she was invincible just because she was a genetically-engineered soldier? _Did he?_

He had confronted her, and she had asked him to help her with this mission, and he had refused. _Max, if you do this, _he had begun, _then you're not the girl I thought you were._

She had told him to leave.

And he had.

He lived on the road, doing odd jobs. He had spent the greatest amount of time in California, which was where he was when she caught up to him.

And now, here she was in California, nearly crying into her beer, alone at the bar and ignoring all the men who tried to pick up on her. She hadn't seen his approach, which was fine – it gave him time to assess their two years apart.

By the ragged look of her, she'd just been through hell. _Probably Logan_.

She had cut her hair, which was still dark, but now rested just below her shoulders. And she looked tired with lack of energy and nearly sunken eyes. She had a couple of fading scars on her hands, and once he got closer, he saw another on the side of her neck.

She must have smelled him, because she abruptly turned to face him.

"Max," he hummed deeply. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Max stood up, still over a foot shorter than him. "Can we go somewhere?"

Back at his motel, they sat side by side on the bed, not really sure where to begin.

"You were right," she started. "It was too dangerous."

The look on her face conveyed loss. "Who was it?"

She looked away from him, trying to push back the memory while he sought eye-to-eye contact, but when the first tear welled at her bottom lashes, she realized she couldn't hold back anymore. "I don't know why it happened," she said. "She shouldn't have even been there."

"Original Cindy?"

She nodded. "_This_ is why you said those things, isn't it?"

"You know I wouldn't be able to take it if I lost you, Maxie."

Max looked up, leaned toward him, and pressed her penitent lips to his, begging for forgiveness.


	10. Fade Into You

Max had been dreading this. It was the epitome of everything unfair in this world. He was faster and stronger, and he had saved her life, and this was what he got for it.

She lazily followed Sketchy and Normal, walking through Jam Pony toward the front of the store. The air was thick and suffocating, and she wasn't sure if she would make it without revealing too much.

The night air was cool, but it was not raining. Not tonight. It was a lonely walk, even with Original Cindy walking next to her. Usually, OC had a way of comforting her. Not tonight. Tonight, OC could squeeze her friend's hand with all her might and still not peel past the isolated layers and impenetrable walls Max had raised. Their breaths came out in white clouds.

Finally, everyone had left, even OC, and she had stayed there until nearly 2:00 a.m. She had waited.

She had waited for it to feel like maybe he was still there with her. She had waited for his arms to encircle her and squeeze her lovingly. She had waited for his smile to brighten her day. She had waited for whatever asinine comment would eventually cause her to lift her open palm to the back of his head or playfully punch him in the arm. She had waited for the innuendo to seep into the conversation. She had waited for the day he would tell her he loved her, and finally touch his lips to hers.

But she had waited too long, and now it was too late.

"Alec, I miss you," she told him.

"You can't miss me if I'm not gone," he whispered.

She felt his hand at her temple, softly cupping her cheek and leaning his head down toward hers. She cuddled against his leather jacket, surrounding herself with his scent. She closed her eyes against the pain in her body. She needed him. She ached for him.

"Something to tell me, Maxie?" he asked, his breath playing against her hair, blowing it into the wind.

"Now it's too late."

"It's never too late," he responded, kissing her again, this time tasting her, drinking her.

"Can't I just fade into you?" she asked, smoothing one hand up his chest and the other through his hair.

"You already have."

"I think it's strange you never knew," she said, slipping her arms around him.

"Never knew what?" he asked, kissing her chastely on the lips.

"Never knew I was in love with you."

He smiled, then it faded. "Was?"

Max played with the grass at her fingers as if it was his hair, staring at the mound of dirt, under which Alec's body was buried.


	11. Touch

As Alec rushed through TC on his motorcycle, weaving through alleys and driving on the sidewalks when he saw cross traffic ahead, he tugged at his collar. _Jeez, it's hot. Must be damn near 100 degrees._

When he got to her building, he hauled ass upstairs seven stories to get to her floor, which was a feat in itself since all he could smell was her and her scent was seriously messing with his senses.

Before he could knock, her door swung open, and she stood there in panties, clutching a light blue kitchen towel to her chest; her hair was pulled up, save a few strands, which clung to the curve of her breast and the slope of her back. She was either in a state of undress, or a state of redress, he wasn't sure, and he didn't care.

He stared at her skin, shimmering against the daylight. It made his mouth water, and once he had cleared his mouth, he stood statue-still with his lips slightly parted, sucking in the hot air that permeated her apartment.

Max teethed her lower lip impatiently, her mouth feeling hotter than the temperature. She wasn't sure how much longer she could bear to hold the towel – it was just too hot and she hated the feeling of those little fabric pieces scraping at her skin. She saw how he eyed the towel, waiting for her to make a decision.

The moment was thick, as if the heat was pushing them both forward and down. Max searched his darkening eyes. Alec could feel his pants tighten when she let go of the door handle, imprinted with her hand's perspiration, and took a step back.

Alec caught sight of a big drop of sweat slipping from just below her ear, and watched as it shot down toward the small concave divot at her collarbone. He was holding his breath, waiting for her to catch the bead and wipe it away, but she didn't.

"What are you doing here?" she asked breathily, noting how wound he seemed to be from… _the heat?_

"Getting to know your purr," he said back, his rough voice sending a cool shiver throughout her body.

With the bead of sweat on the verge of the drop slipping over the edge, she finally dropped the little blue towel to the floor.

Alec lunged forward two steps into the sweltering room, slammed the door behind him, and swept her up into his arms, immediately tonguing the bead of sweat promisingly. She purred at his touch.

She pulled off his shirt and jumped into his lap, wrapping her legs around him as he backed her up against the cool wall and pressed into her.


	12. I Can't Stand the Rain

Max sat at her living room window, staring out into the rain-soaked streets of Seattle, restless. Original Cindy approached her friend warily. "What's up, boo? You feverin'?"

Being cooped up in their apartment was driving her crazy. She had paced for hours all morning, listening to the rain rap against her window incessantly. It felt like Mother Nature was conspiring to keep her indoors.

"Yeah, I guess," she responded. "I just can't stand the rain."

OC leaned against the wall, looking out at the dull, gray and now wet world below.

"Well you better get used to it, girl, 'cause until the flood warning passes, we can't even go to work! And not that I'm complainin', 'cause you know I love you, but did you ever think Seattle might not be the place for a fine, felined female like yourself?"

OC had a point, but Max wouldn't trade her life for anything – even non-rainy weather.

Max stood decidedly, marched toward their kitchen island, and pulled her leather jacket off the stool back, slipping it on.

Original Cindy watched, surprised. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"I gotta get outta here. If I don't, I'll be crawlin' all over your nerves tonight." Max headed for the door.

"But it's rainin' cats and –" before she could finish she realized what she was saying. Max laughed and left. "Dogs," OC finished as the door shut.

Even on her motorcycle, getting soaked to the bone out there in the rain, Max preferred this to sitting inside doing nothing.

Max soon found herself standing in a puddle she herself had made, outside Alec's door, knocking gently on the barrier.

When the door swung open, Alec stood before her, also soaking wet and with the same look on his face. Needful want.

Suddenly, they both felt out of breath.

"Max," he managed to push out, as if her name was a statement he'd been waiting to make all day.

"Couldn't stand the rain," she said, eyeing how his drenched clothes stuck to him at all the right curves of his muscles.

He mirrored her not-so-discreet actions. He almost admired how the rain made her hair curl around all her curves. "Me neither," he said, looking at her lips.

Max took one very hesitant step forward and stopped, licking her lips. Alec had simultaneously stepped forward, raising both hands to cup the sides of her face.

Alec stared into her eyes momentarily. Max looked doefully up to him and raised up onto her tiptoes, meeting his waiting lips halfway.

Alec traced his hands around her shoulders to her back as Max grabbed onto his shoulders and swung her legs up around him.

Alec shut the door.


	13. Back For You

_Old, decrepit, mildewy building. Again. Probably a warehouse._ _Maybe a basement._

She knew she was cuffed in rusty chains, and that those chains were attached to the ceiling. She hung by her wrists, one shoulder dislocated from the strength of the blow that incapacitated her, and her feet swung indiscriminately, unable to toe the floor below her. On top of all that, she felt dirty, and she could smell gasoline.

She had walked the alleyways home and had been attacked from behind by a masked man. She tried to fight back, but he knew her moves before she made them and had swung her face first into a brick building – by her shoulder, which was now dislocated. She figured her face was probably bleeding somewhere.

No sooner had Max strained her eyes, trying to find a light source, than she heard the spark of a match and saw its flame light up. She froze. The cold shadows played against his face as if emulating the silhouetted flame in a millisecond delay.

"Alec?" she asked, trying to enhance her vision to see him better.

"Try again," the man responded.

Max smiled with recognition. "Ben?"

"Very good, Maxie."

"Thank God it's you. Hurry up and get me down from here before that son of a bitch who tied me up comes back!" She swung a little in desperation.

Ben stepped forward confidently and another figure became visible behind him. "Now, 452, that's not very nice," came White's voice as he stepped forward, the flame beginning to illuminate his malicious expression.

Ben walked closer to Max and flicked the flaming match to the ground. It immediately lit the gasoline and circled around the three of them in a kind of Fibonacci spiral.

"What the hell's going on?" she asked, flames sending heat toward her toes.

"493 works for me now," White bragged. "I programmed him to find all other transgenic filth such as yourself. And here we are."

Ben didn't even blink. He was silent and stood statue-still behind White.

White removed a gun from its holster and offered the butt end to Ben. "Kill her."

Ben accepted the gun and looked over at his once-sister. He raised the gun to her but didn't shoot.

"Remember what we said, Maxie?" Ben started, the gleam of danger sneaking up into his eyes. "When we were younger? Do you remember?"

Max thought back to their shared childhood. She had broken so many of their rules, the rules Zack had spelled out months before their escape. Her eyes began to well with tears. "Yes, I remember."

"Then why didn't you?" he asked as if he were a scared kid.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back for you, Ben."


	14. These Arms of Mine

She'd been watching them lately. She didn't want to admit it to anyone, especially not herself, but she'd been staring. Staring hard.

Of course it didn't help that they'd been doing supply runs together, jobs with heavy lifting and zip-lining and repelling and climbing – all things that flexed them.

Max thought about his years at Manticore and what he must have gone through: years of hard, physical training, missions with nigh-impossible tasks, probably lost a member or two of his unit, years of saluting and dropping to give 'em twenty…

_And maybe_, she thought, _a little bit of time on his elbows in someone's soft arms, making love…_

_Stop it_, Max scolded herself. But before she could continue, she'd already gone back to the fantasy, and readopted that far away look in her eyes.

And now all she could do was stare at them while he lectured the room on the dangers of the next mission. She wasn't even aware of the words coming out of his mouth. He just looked so authoritative and in control.

Suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room was trained on her. She shook her mind out of the delirium. "What?"

Alec looked at her expectantly.

"What?" she asked again.

"I just asked if you had anything to add before the Bravo team heads out." Alec folded his arms across his chest.

If his arms weren't bad enough, she thought, staring at the smooth cotton tee hugging his Pecs. She unconsciously licked her lips.

"Guess not," Alec said, turning back to the team. "Just be careful, guys."

As the transgenics and transhumans shuffled out of the Situation Room – as it had come to be known – Max hung back in a kind of trance as Alec gathered the few maps that had been passed around.

Max was still quiet and still staring.

"Somethin' on your mind, Max?"

Again, she shook herself out of the sexy thoughts and focused her attention on him. "Nope," was all she could manage as she raised up out of her seat and left.

Six hours later, she found herself at his open door, with a shirtless, bed-headed Alec standing in front of her, a confused look on his tired face. His eyes were barely open. "Max," he said, though it sounded more like a question.

Max closed the distance between them and pushed the door knob with her hands behind her back, until it clicked. She reached out and placed her palms on his arms, squeezing him gently with her fingertips and drawing him to her in an embrace. He immediately scooped her into a squeeze. _With those arms, _she thought, smiling_._

Alec buried his face at her neck and inhaled deeply.


	15. Mission to Please

It was… captivating. Alluring. Heat-inducing. It was fluid, his movement. It was almost erotic. It was illogical.

She'd been at the nightclub for over an hour, and for the past thirty minutes, Max was rapt by his swerving. She tilted her head in a futile attempt to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Girl, you gon' break ya neck if you tilt your head any harder," Original Cindy commented. "You wanna dance with hot boy, just walk on over there, shugga."

"He's already dancing with Busty Redhead." Max's face contorted as Red laced her fingers behind Alec's neck and pulled herself toward him. Alec was facing her, but he maneuvered Red around and stared right at Max. Her breath caught in her throat.

"How many times I gotta tell you – you got an itch? Go scratch."

"Not when he's got her."

OC scoffed. "Please. Hot boy been dancing with you since you got here. And if you're worried about Red, don't be." Original Cindy paused to drink the remainder of her beer. "She's playing for my team." OC gave Red her best come-hither stare. Original Cindy grabbed Max's hand. "Come on, girl," she said, leading her toward Alec and Red. "This beat's too deep not to ride!"

They made it out to the floor and began dancing together, positioned square in front of Alec and Red.

Max felt nervous. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because OC was right – Alec had been flirting with her and she hadn't done a thing about it. Max spent what felt like forever dancing with her eyes shut.

She smelled him first. The leather and musky Alec-scent wafted into the personal space at her neck. She combed her hands through her hair, her body undulating into his personal space until her back bumped into his chest. She slid one hand down her body, eventually coming to rest at the back of his thigh, while the other hand crept up and curled itself around his neck, pulling him toward her by the barcode.

The song was rolling strong and Max found herself moving with him, getting lost in the seduction of the song.

"Max," Alec whispered at her neck as he rested his hands at her hips and helped grind their bodies against each other's. His voice was like an aphrodisiac.

"Yeah?" she nearly moaned.

"We need to get out of here," he said, his breath tickling down her chest.

"Why?" she asked.

"So I can get you out of control," he gruffed at the base of her ear.

"Oh yeah?" she played. "With what?"

Alec flicked her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. She let out an unexpected purr and yanked him toward the exit.


	16. Sparks

Earlier, he had picked Max up and taken her to a government lab to do a quick Eyes Only job.

"I need to be back by nine for the Jam Pony Christmas party," she said. She looked great, too, in black leather pants and a ruby red v-neck sweater.

"I can't make any promises."

Max had huffed, and when he had given her the disciplinary stare, she said, "We have Secret Santa this year and I got a really special gift."

_For Alec? _He had wondered, jealous and upset. He found himself questioning for the first time if what they technically didn't have meant less to her than it did to him.

"What do I need to grab?" she had asked, preparing to sneak inside. She zipped up her black overcoat and returned her warm gaze to him.

"There's a disc in that lab. The disc has some important research on it."

"Back in a flash!" she said, almost happily.

The door closed before he could tell her to be careful.

Max didn't return to the car until nine-fifteen. "Why didn't you tell me what was on the disc?" she asked angrily, slamming the door closed.

"Um, Merry Christmas?" he responded, eyebrows lifted as if to suggest he was sorry.

"Why would you ask me to steal it without telling me that it's me on this disc?" She waved the disc between them.

"I just thought it would be a nice thing for you to have – a video file of your mother giving birth… to you."

Max focused her attention forward. "Can you please just drive me back?"

After the most uncomfortable and silent thirty minutes of his life, Logan pulled up to Jam Pony to drop Max off. "I guess I'll see you," she had said.

Logan watched as Max entered the building and was greeted by Original Cindy and Sketchy. She took a couple of steps in and took of her coat. Alec appeared, looking and pointing upward. Max had followed his gaze, and if Logan's vision wasn't failing from forty feet away in the rain, she had blushed.

Alec had stepped forward with a suddenly serious face, and Max had stood on her tip-toes, and they had kissed lightly. She handed Alec a present. Logan couldn't see it, only that it had been wrapped in some kind of burgundy cloth. As he opened it, he gained a wondrous expression on his face and embraced her with a 'thank you.'

Logan sat alone in the dark in his living room, looking out the rain-soaked window and savoring his whiskey-soaked tongue, wondering if driving her to Jam Pony that night had driven her away.

_Mistletoe. Secret Santa. I hate Christmas parties._


	17. Make a Move On Me

Alec seemed to roll down the steps of Crash, eyeing the room for Max, OC and Sketchy. Apparently it was 80s night. Celebrating a whole decade from over 40 years ago by dressing up in ridiculous tight leather and weird gym socks and headbands just didn't seem like a flattering fashion choice for anyone, Alec thought.

His notion was confirmed the moment he spied Sketchy, whose attire consisted of a light blue tee under a white suit jacket with pushed up sleeves and matching white pants.

"The nineteen eighties," he said with arms outstretched.

Alec nodded. "I'm glad I wasn't, uh, born in that decade!"

Sketchy laughed. "Well at least it wasn't the seventies!"

Alec wasn't sure what he meant, but he smiled at his friend anyway and watched a beautiful girl walk past their table. "So where's Max and OC?" he asked, swinging his head back to Sketchy. Sketchy motioned toward the bar and gulped down his beer. Alec followed his gaze and landed his own on Original Cindy.

She was leaning against the bar on her elbows, facing the dance floor. Her tiny bright blue leather miniskirt and matching halter top nearly made Alec forget her preference. He noticed she was wearing some white patent leather roller skates.

Alec laughed to himself. _Why anyone would wear roller skates is beyond me,_ he thought.

But as Original Cindy skated toward the dance floor with another girl on skates, both looking cute, he changed his theory.

And then he saw her.

She was facing the bar, wearing bright little yellow shorts with a white, yellow-trimmed v-neck sleeveless jersey. He followed her legs down and saw matching yellow leg warmers over her skates. The girl turned around with two pitchers of golden ale in her hands, and Alec's mouth fell open, suddenly dry. _Max._

She skated toward the two guys with a big smile on her face. H saw she was also wearing a bright yellow headband and a high side ponytail. She was a sunshiny vision. And she was blushing at the look Alec was giving her.

"Like my costume?" she asked, reaching the table and setting the pitchers down without averting her gaze. Her carefree attitude seemed to demand his attention.

"It's nice," he said, leaning in a little closer and resting one arm on the table. He reached up with his other hand and twirled her ponytail, letting her locks fall through his fingers. "Very nice."

Max rolled forward slightly. He stared at her lips and licked his own unconsciously.

"You got plans for me?" she flirted, one eyebrow arched. She placed and hand on his arm and slid it up a few inches. She bit her lower lip and waited for his response.

Alec gave Max a half-cocked grin, a grin she'd never seen before, and which made her skin and the room hotter. An idea seemed to spark in his eyes as he answered, "How much time do you have?"


	18. Something to Help Me Sleep

I need something to help me sleep, Max thought as she stared into the great gray-beyond of her bedroom ceiling, awash in its bland vastness. She was struck by the parallelism of the night sky's way of reminding her of her insignificance and the ceiling's way of saying the exact same thing.

Max rolled onto her side and kicked the blankets off her feet. She stared out the window, across the sleepy Seattle, and wondered what he was doing.

The past few weeks had been surprising. She'd gone on so many runs with him, taking turns staring at one another's backsides as they hauled these tiny, meaningless packages across the city. The bantering had been fun, the conversations, hell, all of it was.

And the fact that he embraced who she was and didn't see her as a monster – and didn't see her as a soldier above all else – that was freeing.

Just earlier that day in the torrential rain, each caught sight of a brand new, shiny SUV belonging to a local henchman. They decided to relieve him of his flashy ride and make some money on the side.

But one of them triggered the alarm, and it was drawing lots of unwanted attention, and they were getting soaked, and things seemed to be going sideways.

"Run!" he had suggested, a huge grin replacing his 'serious work' face.

And they had.

They had to control their speed, otherwise a parking lot full of regular people would start to wonder how they blurred, except they wouldn't know what to call it and would eventually come up with some dumbass name like 'super speed running'.

They ran through the alleyways as if they were obstacle courses: under the overhang, over the fruit stand, past the dealers, lunge to the side to avoid running into a couple holding hands, dodge the fire escape ladder and sneak into another alleyway.

And when they ducked into the back entrance of one of the local vendors and came face-to-face with one another, blood pumping, breathless, full of adrenaline, Max backed up against a wall with his body touching hers, and that sexy as hell look in his eyes, he went for it.

The kiss.

And it was exciting, kissing him. The combination of being drenched from the rain, soft lips on oh-so-soft lips, his thoroughly soaked body heating hers up with every millisecond of this newfound lust, it had all made the whole thing so unbearably, impossibly sexy.

And now Max was waiting for darkness to wash over her, to have one more second in the rain, to hear her heart in her chest like the rain tapping at her window.

Not rain, Max realized, smiling.

Alec.


	19. A Theme From Someone Else's Dream

It was raining in Seattle. Again.

Fuck again; it was raining in Seattle, still.

And Max's only escape after a full day of riding around in the rain to deliver packages all over town from Normal's grouchier-than-thou, erratic ass was to let the frustration out with a long motorcycle ride in the rain.

On top of that, she knew her heat cycle had begun, because every X5 male in a two mile radius somehow found his way to her doorstep – the doorstep she shared with Original Cindy, the girl who was beyond over all the incessant knocking and calling – though none of them were even remotely acceptable. None of them carried the flippant banter, the strength, the lust. Whatever _it_ was, none of them had _it. _She needed that alpha male. Nothing less would do.

And that was yet another reason she was aching to get out. Some subliminal part of her knew that there wasn't one solid alpha male within the two mile radius. Maybe if she could get out there, expand her radius, she would find one soldier to fit the bill. _Wait, soldier?_

The conscious part of her knew she could get out and cool her core temperature. She was sick of being a slave to the heat and all the (at times) guiltless things it made her do, and then all the (post-coital) emotions it made her hate.

The rain helped – made her look and feel like the epitome of a drowned rat – the unsexiest feeling in the world. Well, helped or didn't, depending on the perception. Too bad it couldn't make her smell like a drowned rat – that would be a big deterrent, right?

And if she could just feel the vibration of the Ninja between her legs, maybe some of the action she'd been seeking could be satiated.

And if it couldn't be abated, well then fuck it. She'd find a suitable soldier out there somewhere (maybe… in this rain?) and give him the up close and personal he never knew he wanted. _Wait, soldier? Again? _

Max smiled to herself as the rain snuck under her jacket and seeped into her skin.

Not long thereafter, the rain and vibrations weren't enough, and she found herself scanning the few idiots out on the road for their Y chromosome. Most of them had a female companion, and some were too old (even though neither of those things were very good deterrents, she felt lucky to have her wits about her, because what was she going to do? Follow a man home and explain to his wife how badly she needed to borrow the business end of her husband for a little while? Or rock an old man's world so hard he croaked? And then how could she explain that to Matt Sung?)

No, she needed a young guy with a lot of stamina. Maybe that was why she kept thinking about soldiers. Max smiled again, and was starting to get very antsy.

As if in answer to her unspoken prayer, another motorcyclist rolled up next to her. Decked out in all leather and a helmet with tinted glass, and lacking all the tell-tale signs of femininity, this rider immediately attracted her to the cloak-and-dagger-ness of it all. She imagined getting busy with the stranger in some deserted building, both with their helmets and clothes still on. Never mind her side-lacing leather pants – she'd find a way.

Max revved her engine in a universally understood communication to challenge. Within moments, the other rider responded in kind, his engine purring under the sound of the heavy rain.

The light turned green, and both drivers accelerated into the rain.

Max's heart pounded as he took the lead and risked corners at high speeds. A couple of corners almost made her lose traction and start skidding. They slowed only when they reached an intersection with a red light.

Max looked to him and noted how close they were to the harbor. There'd definitely be an empty pier at this time of night.

Since there was no traffic, and she could neither see nor hear any hover drones, Max burst through the red light and toward the harbor. She could hear the other rider behind her, even though her heart seemed to beat louder than the rain.

She led him into an abandoned pier building, skidded one-hundred eighty degrees to a stop, cut the engine, and propped the cycle on its kickstand. The dark rider slowed to a stop, his headlight illuminating her figure and blinding her from him.

She didn't care. If he could ride like that, she didn't care who it was (well, as long as it wasn't Normal or Sketchy, or god forbid, the touch-him-and-he-dies Logan [side note: would he really be able to feel it anyway?]).

In one quick movement, Max slipped off her helmet and let it fall to the ground. She walked toward the light, pulling down the zipper on her jacket, making sure to stay in the beam so he knew that she wore nothing else under it.

He finally cut his engine and turned off his headlight. As she reached the man and machine, he removed his helmet.

_Alec._

Looking breathlessly sexy, as if it physically hurt him to not be touching her, he waited for her reaction.

Without pause, Max climbed onto his bike backwards, straddling him in the process, and pressed her lips to his.


	20. Not My Girl

1:00 AM

Alec, Sketchy and Normal had been at the strip club for Twofer Tuesdays for almost three hours, after which time Sketchy and Normal had spent and tipped all their cash, and were looking around anxiously for Alec, if for no other reason than to say goodbye. But he wasn't at the main stage, and he didn't seem to be on the floor getting any lapdances.

Normal patted Sketchy on the shoulder. "When you find him, let him know I expect to see him bright and early tomorrow morning. Just because you're here late doesn't mean you can shirk your work responsibilities."

_Downer,_ thought Sketchy. _And now I have to find him before I can go home. _"All right, see you tomorrow."

As Normal left, Sketchy began another sweep of the club.

* * *

11:00 PM [two hours prior]

"Would you like a dance, sweetheart?" asked a busty brunette, dragging her fingertips along the expanse of Alec's shoulders.

He'd been at the bar for an hour, getting scotched, and he really wasn't in the mood to waste his dough on a dance. He looked to her, barely peeking over his shoulder. _Especially not on some poor lookalike_. "No, thanks," he said politely and returned to his ale.

A buzz noise sounded and Alec's cell phone rumbled in his pants. He fished the phone out as the busty brunette said "some other time."

He answered, "Should've known it was you blowing up my pants."

The brunette gave him a suggestive look he didn't see, and walked away.

"What's up?" he asked with a slight smile on his face.

* * *

12:00 AM [1 hour prior]

Alec meandered through the crowds of horny men, mouths agape like suffocating fish, looking for Sketchy and Normal, at least so he could say goodbye.

Truth was, he just wasn't feeling it tonight. The dancers seemed to be phoning it in. They were too uninterested, too busty or not busty enough, wearing too much or too little, and some seemed just – thoroughly uninteresting.

But when he found Sketchy, he was mid- lapdance, and seemed to be having the time of his life. And he couldn't find Normal at all.

After a few minutes, he gave up and exited the building around back, where he had parked his bike.

As he stepped out into the chilly night, he felt the buzz of his cell again and pulled the phone from his pocket. Looking at the caller ID, he smiled and flipped the phone open. "Hey. Can't stand an hour without me, huh?" He waited for a response.

"Where'd you park?" came the voice on the other end.

Alec almost panicked, thinking his bike had been stolen, but when he looked up and out to his parking spot, there she was, Max, sitting nonchalantly on his bike, wearing those tight black pants and cropped jacket.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen anything so sexy," he said, walking toward her.

She started to stand, presumably to dismount the motorcycle.

"Please don't get up on my account," he said, nearly grinding his teeth. Max sat back down.

He arrived at the bike and they both hung up their phones.

"Can I give you a ride?" he asked, with no twinge of sarcasm (but a little bit of innuendo).

Max nodded toward the club. "None of the girls in there working out for you, huh?" she asked, scooting back on the bike to make room for him.

Alec swung his leg over and leaned back. He could smell her natural scent and it turned him on something fierce. "None of them are you."

Max swept her hand under his arm and slit it into his pocket. She pulled his keys out and dangled them daintily on one finger. "Take me home, Alec."


	21. Lately

Max stood before him in his open doorway, feeling kind of nervous about what they were about to do.

Alec's eyes drank in the sight of her as he sipped mouthful of scotch. He held the door open.

Max wondered what the hell she was doing there. She realized there was no turning back the moment she passed the precipice. She followed him to his kitchen.

He set down his empty tumbler and pulled a bottle of Scotch from the cupboard. "You want some?" he asked, though it sounded like a statement. She nodded, and as he pulled another tumbler, she considered how practical his inflection was, like it made some kind of logical sense.

At least that's what they each told themselves at the start of the week when, out of sheer boredom, they had made a bet at Jam Pony that whoever had the better times on a series of physical tests would win the other as a slave for the week – doing odd or dirty jobs, stealing and fencing valuables, all no questions asked.

They'd spent the week repelling off of rooftops, running from Sector Cops, clawing around in muddy water, and besting the very worst scum of Seattle.

And now, here she was, standing across from Alec, producing nervous mouth sweat and feeling hot from the rush of blood reddening her cheeks.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

Max bit her lip. "It's what we agreed to. Part of the bet."

Alec circled the kitchen island and passed Max. He turned on the stereo and a smooth R&B groove began sliding out of the speakers.

Max faced him, slipping off her leather jacket. She downed the liquor. "How do you want to do this?"

He only smiled slyly and crossed the distance between them. He let his fingertips run from the back of her arm to her palm, slow like sap making its way down the bark of a tree. "Come on," he said.

Max smiled, embarrassed, but allowed him to pull her close. Closer than she'd ever been to him on purpose. He smelled like the outdoors.

"This close?" he asked.

Max closed her eyes and steeled herself. She pulled him toward her and led his hand to her waist. "Here."

They began dancing, though it felt more like swaying.

Neither transgenic could utter a syllable, and after a minute of this, neither transgenic could pretend that the words seeping out of the stereo weren't working.

"You know I didn't really invite Logan over to catch us 'on accident', right?" Max asked, sliding her hand down his bicep.

He smirked. "You know I threw the games, right?"

Alec pressed his eager lips to hers.


	22. Sideways

Two weeks.

That's how long it had been. Two weeks of seeing him flirt with every new woman who walked into Crash. It made her miserable.

Max sulked into her beer, if that was even possible, as yet another woman approached the lean-muscled back at the bar. She was sure she'd seen the floozy lick her lips before she even took one step.

And of course he turned toward the bimbo with that devilishly handsome grin on his face, and had invited her to sit, and bought her a drink.

And of course she would lean in, inviting him to either look down her top a little or smell her scent a little, or both, and whisper to him so he'd have to lean in close to her, too.

It was killing her, and it was so unlike her. Max tipped her beer sideways, and when that wasn't enough, she tipped it upside down, chugging the alcohol as if she might be able to get drunk and stay drunk and forget all about how he was probably going to take the woman home and ravage her senselessly into oblivion.

Original Cindy watched her girl bore into him fully, her eyes burning from across the bar. She needed to find out what was wrong. She knew the instant she questioned Max that the transgenic woman would deny and deflect and get the hell out of there, because she most definitely could be a female fog bank, so she changed her approach and decided to ask the object of Max's sorrowful stare.

As she approached, she heard the brainless girl at the bar offer up how drunk she was, and the man respond, "I'm really not interested."

Before the woman could stand up, presumably to leave, Original Cindy stepped between them and asked, "Hey, shugga, what's wrong witcha girl?"

With a sudden alertness in his eyes, he trained his stare on Max, without even looking around for her – as if he knew exactly where she was, and saw a saddened pair of brown eyes look away. She stood up, slid on her jacket, and climbed the stairs to leave.

"I don't know," came his deep, gravelly reply.

"Boy, you better figure it out," OC seemed to scold, "Because it is definitely about you."

With no further probing, he grabbed his leather coat and shrugged into it as he took the stairs by twos. As he swung the door open and stepped into the chilly Seattle air, he saw her a short ways ahead, her back to him, walking slowly in the direction of Crash's parking lot.

"Max! Hold up!" he called after her. He hustled to catch up and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

When she turned to face him, she couldn't look him in the eyes. She'd started crying and could only look down. "What?" she asked dejectedly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, almost as if he was teetering on being angry.

Max took a big breath and met his stare. "I just – can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what, Max?" he asked.

"I can't hang out with you anymore. I can't come to Crash every night and watch you with all those girls."

He finally nodded in understanding, his brows scrunching together in concern. She seemed to be really hurt by it all. "This is because of two weeks ago?"

She nodded.

"I told you how I feel," he said. "And you said you didn't feel the same."

More tears welled in her eyes and she looked down again. "I know. I know, but…" she trailed, her breath coming out in plumes.

"But what?" he prodded, waiting for her to say it.

Tears streamed down. "But now it's too late, isn't it?" She looked up to him.

His face seemed to be frozen in that confused but concerned stare. He couldn't speak.

She nodded in despair and accepted his silence as his answer. She turned back to the parking lot.

"No," he called after her.

She turned to face him again. "No, it's not?"

"No, it's not," he said lowly, closing the distance between them. He saw a hint of her smile and hesitated for what seemed to her like forever before he raised his palms to tilt her face toward him, licked his own lips, and leaned down to kiss her. His kiss was forgiving, and hers, apologetic. When they separated, he said, "It's never too late, Maxie."

Max's eyes fluttered open. "You sure? What about those girls in there?"

He smirked again. "I'm not in love with them."

She was going to tell him. She was going to say the words out loud, and he was going to reciprocate. His face has softened and he was alive with the newfound knowledge.

"Wait, you knew?" she asked.

"Of course I knew," he said confidently, staring at her lips again.

"Well, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you didn't know yet," he answered, nudging her upper lip with his lower, and holding her to him. "And ever since that day in your cell, I knew you were never gonna let anyone profess your love except you."


	23. Missing Your Love

For months, he felt her slipping away. It was as if she was growing away from him.

_And toward Alec._

That fact bugged the cyber-journalist the most – even more than the idea that she no longer looked at him with big, brown, adoring eyes.

Logan had asked Max to meet him at Crash, alone. It would be a pseudo-date. They'd actually get to have a conversation that wasn't about somehow saving the world.

Which is why he frowned when she came down the stairs followed by the younger, blonde, tall transgenic himself, and why he was so disappointed when the first words out of her mouth were, "So what's the job?"

As she slipped off her jacket, she watched Alec head to a nearby pool table and rack the balls.

"No job," Logan said, staring at Max's turned face. "I just thought we could talk, maybe have a drink."

Max smiled as she saw Alec sucker Sketchy into a game, slipping off his jacket and grabbing a pool cue. He ducked slightly under the low-hanging light and snuck a confident glance at her. Coyly, she looked away and back to Logan. "I'm sorry?"

"I just wanted to see you."

Max turned and, with some appreciation, watched Alec's backside as he bent over the pool table and lined up his shot. Logan followed her line of sight, only to prove by what she seemed so distracted. He turned back to her and witnessed something he'd never seen her do. She bit her lip.

"You look really great tonight," he said, trying to harness her attention.

"Thanks," she said, not removing her eyes from Alec. His bicep flexed as the pool cue struck the shiny white ball. Max's pupils dilated.

"Max, are you here with me?"

Max glanced to Logan, but returned her stare to Alec, whose mouth had crooked up on one side and whose body language had cut off all other women. He leaned against the railing and held Max's gaze.

Logan pushed back in his seat. It was too late. She had never looked at him like she was looking at Alec, and she never would. Countless times, he had imagined her face when she found out he had the cure and now they could be together. It was a night of candlelight, soft jazz, dancing, making love for hours. But now, the way she seemed to blush in Alec's presence, he couldn't help feel the pang of jealousy as the X5 replaced him in those same images.

"Maxie, come over here," Alec requested.

Logan realized he had added something only she could hear, because her eyes lit up again.

Turning to Logan, smiling wide and blushing, she asked, "I'm sorry, what?"

Even from so close a distance, he could see she was looking at him, but she was thinking of Alec.

"I'm sorry, Logan," she said, standing. "I'll be right back."

Logan watched Max walk away from him and toward her happiness.


	24. Graveyard

Graveyard, 3:00 AM

He stood, still as a night shadow, feet planted firmly in place like some great evergreen, staring t the gray stone as rain soaked him from the outside in. He kept his hands in his pockets, but nothing about his posture suggested that he was at ease.

When he finally hung his head, she crept out from behind the tree and walked to him slowly. One hand sliding up his back to press gently at his should, and the other curling around his bicep, she nudged him to turn toward her.

"Hey, Maxie," he said in a near mumble. "How long were you gonna hug that tree?"

"Until the bulldozers left," she answered. "Come on, let's get you dry."

He kept his hands in his pockets and she linked an arm through his as they walked wordlessly to her apartment.

At the door, they silently removed their shoes and carried them inside before Max turned to close the door gently behind them. She looked to Original Cindy's makeshift door and noted that her sassy friend seemed to be fast asleep. She raised a vertical finger to her lips and took his hand, leading him to her bedroom. Thankfully, it had a closeable door.

He looked around the room, surprised somehow at how neat it was. Her bed was made; her clothes all put away, two sets of shoes neatly arranged at her bedside – one pair of boots, one pair of sneakers. Both hers. He followed her lead, setting his shoes next to hers by her door.

She busied herself lighting two candles, then shrugging off her coat and throwing it on her side chair.

He wasn't sure what to do. Sit? Continue standing? He didn't want to mess up her nice, dry bed. But suddenly, she was staring at him, the glow of the flickering candles playing shadows across her face.

She spoke lowly, so as not to wake her roommate. "As nice as you look in that suit," she started, moving closer to him, "you're soaked." She watched the calm of his stormy eyes as she pushed the dark gray suit jacket over his shoulders.

"Just trying to pay her the respect she deserves," he said, closing his eyes at her memory. The woman in front of him mimicked his memory, her brown hair swinging at his arms.

"I know," she said, laying his jacket on top of hers. She returned to him and pulled his tie loose until each end hung at either side of the lapels. She picked at his buttons one by one, until a sliver of his skin peeked out.

She swept her hands inside the shirt and over his shoulders – just as she had done with his jacket – but for some reason, this time her hands were warm. Her eyes darted to his chest as she pulled the garment down his arms, but the sleeves got caught at his wrists.

She laughed, and for the first time in six hours, he smiled. Wriggling his wrists free, his smile died down to a tiny grin. He shivered under her gaze.

"Cold?" she interpreted.

Before he could respond, she tossed his shirt aside, peeled back her blanket and slid her top sheet off the bed. She gathered the ends in one hand, circled her other hand behind him at the neck, and grabbed the end, wrapping it around his shoulders.

He grabbed the ends from inside the sheet and pulled it tighter around him.

"Might be easier to get dry without your pants," she offered.

She watched the suggestion of his muscles under the sheet as he removed his slacks and stepped out of them. She picked them up and hung them over an exposed pipe before disappearing into her closet for a moment. When she came back out, she was wearing sweats and a tee-shirt.

"You miss her," she said, sitting on the edge of her bed and motioning for him to follow.

He sat down and stared at the shoddy carpeting. "Sometimes."

She raised her arm to his shoulder and rested it there as her fingers moved some of his wet hair off of his forehead. The pad of her thumb swept along his cheek and he turned to face her. She looked hurt. And he thought he knew why.

"I'm sorry, I know I look like him."

"That's not-" she started. "I wasn't thinking of him." She'd been thinking how painful this was for the man before her.

"Maxie," he started. He let go of one of the ends of the sheet and reached a bare arm out to touch her face. The sheet fell from his shoulder and she watched it slide down.

For two minutes, they stared into one another's eyes, sharing their losses.

And then she tilted her chin up to him and kissed him.


	25. Theater in the Round

Theater in the Round, 10:00 PM

The shots rang out in wild staccato as Alec ran the catwalk above the stage in the old theater, a huge smile plastered to his face. Despite dodging the gunfire, he was laughing hysterically.

"It's not funny!" Max shouted from behind him, blurring in an attempt to catch up with him.

Alec's throaty laughter sounded again as a bullet nicked the handrail in front of him. "Yes it is!"

He reached the end and turned to face Max, ducking down.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. Here came Max, hauling ass, dressed in a skin tight leotard meant to mimic a calico kitten, with her nose painted black and false whiskers jutting out from her scowling face.

Another set of shots rang out and Max dove to the metal, pushing Alec onto his back and landing right on top of him. He hadn't expected it, which caused the wind to get knocked out of him. He gasped for air.

"I knew I took your breath away," Max teased, looking out toward the direction from which the bullets seemed to be emanating. He looked down to her body on his and watched how her cleavage moved as she turned back to him.

"You know, Maxie, you don't have to call me in a panic on opening night if you just wanted to jump me," he teased back. "All you had to do was ask."

His brows wiggled playfully and Max tried to move her hand to hit him upside the head (like she normally would when he made comments like these), but the gunfire seemed ceaseless and he caught her hand and pulled it to his chest.

"Hold on there, kitten," he said, watching the way her hand curled in its spotted glove. "If you want to keep them, keep your paws to yourself."

Max scoffed. "Look, it was the only way I could get in – maybe you could rent an apartment off my back?"

Alec laughed, sending rumbles through her body, causing her to shift in place. And those shifts caused certain other parts of him to become increasingly aware of her position on top of him and the thinness of her costume. He hoped she hadn't felt it.

But of course, she did. She shifted some more, enjoying the way his eyes tilted back and his laugh morphed into a groan.

"Maxie, if you're not careful, those guys down there are gonna have a whole new target."

She ground into him a little more. "They're not snipers, Alec," she joked.

His eyes widened. He let go of her hand and, with his hands at her hips, repositioned her in his lap.

She groaned as her eyes fluttered shut, then opened wide. She licked her lips. "Can we get outta here?"


	26. Sleepwalker

Every night is the same. I go back to our shared apartment to immerse myself in her scent. I know, it's pathetic, but I can't help it – she's intoxicating and I just can't seem to get enough of it.

She doesn't come home until pretty early in the morning, and I know this because I'm usually on the couch, pretending to have fallen asleep watching TV. If I went to bed, there's a good chance she wouldn't get any rest at all, because she wouldn't climb in it if I was in it.

And the couch isn't that bad. Better that I wake up with a crick in my neck instead of her.

The past couple of nights, she's come home and gone straight to the bedroom. From the noises she's barely making, I know she is undressing and slipping between the sheets, and I can feel my heart beat faster. After I'm convinced that she's asleep, I turn off the TV and lay back on the couch, listening to her even breathing, just glad she is home. Safe.

Last night, she came home, undressed, and tossed and turned for two hours, before finally; she swept the bedroom door open and quietly padded out to the couch. I didn't dare open my eyes, just kept breathing normally.

I felt the couch dip between my knees and at my sides under her weight, and a moment later, she was pressed to my side with her back against the couch's, her head on my shoulder, and her hand on my chest. She knows I'm not that heavy a sleeper, so it must have been my silence which she recognized as permission. Within minutes, she fell asleep.

I could feel her bare legs on mine, and with her sandwiched between me and the couch, I could feel her natural body heat emanating and seeping into my skin.

Tonight, I get home and hear her 'asleep' on the couch.

I slip off my jacket and peek around the corner, where it appears she has fallen asleep with no blanket. I consider squeezing behind her on the couch, but figure I better not push it.

I strip down in the bedroom, and the air is heavy with vanilla. It must have been bath night, I realize, pulling off my shirt and sinking back onto the bed. I don't bother with the threadbare blanket. I fold my hands and stare at the ceiling. Wide awake, I wait to hear if she makes any movements or noises.

Three hours later, she climbs onto the bed and lays her soft cheek on my bare chest, inhaling my scent. She rubs her cheekbones into me and my arms adjust around her.


	27. Mi Amiga

"I got this friend," Max started, sitting on the roof of an office building, preparing her grappling hook. "See, he's always getting himself into trouble." She hooked one end to the wire and turned to face a partially bruised and lacerated Alec.

"Hey, it's not like I knew this was gonna happen," he said, sliding his gloves on and smiling.

"You actually enjoy this, don't you?"

"Enjoy what? Flying through the midnight air with a dark – but not nearly as naked as I'd like – beauty by my side? You enjoy it, too. Don't lie to yourself."

She hated how his eyes twinkled with the excitement of clandestine espionage. And she hated that he was right. She'd drop dinner with Logan any night for the adrenaline of the transgenic adventure, which is exactly what she had done. She smiled a tiny smile, one she hoped he hadn't seen, loaded the hook into the launcher, and shot out into the darkness.

The hook latched onto a smaller building across the street.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Alec said. Before she could protest, he continued. "You should smile more often. It's sexy as hell."

Max turned to secure the end of the wire and became face to face with him. He moved past her and scaled the ledge, heels barely on it and one hand gripping the ledge.

"Hop on," he said, holding up the trolley and affixing it to the line.

"On what, your back?" Max asked, twisting her hair and shoving it into the back of her turtleneck.

"Well, you could hop on my front if you'd prefer."

Even with his face partially obscured by proof of the fight, his smirk still snuck out.

"I should have brought two trollies," Max grunted, climbing onto his back.

"Ready?"

"Just don't let go."

Sailing through the night made Max feel free, made her feel as though maybe this world wasn't so bad after all, wasn't after destroying any possible chance at her happiness.

But the feeling was fleeting. She only received a few seconds of weightlessness in the air before gravity clutched at them and pulled them back down.

Crashing down toward the graveled rooftop across the street, Alec knew he couldn't foot their landing, and at the last second, Max jerked forward, sending them into a tumble. When the building stopped turning around them, Alec was securely weighted over her, nearly out of breath.

He glanced at her lips momentarily and bent to brush a quick kiss to her lips. "Thanks for saving my ass, Maxie."

He jumped up and ran toward the stair access door.

"Hey!" Max protested, scrambling to her feet and chasing after him, a huge smile plastered to her face.


	28. I Only Have Eyes For You

_This place is so different from Seattle_, Max thought, laying twigs and small kindling crossways on the leaves and other pieces of debris Alec had collected for the fire.

First and foremost, the sand was actually soft, unlike the harbor beach, which usually had glass and rocks, smoothed over by unrelenting water pressure over many decades, threatening any kind of gentility one deigned to consider by taking off one's shoes. Not to mention the frostbite that would surely occur if one was not smart enough to leave on one's shoes.

Second, it was actually warm. It was warm enough not to have to wear a jacket, even as the sun descended, seemingly past the water and into the earth. The delta breeze brought on its wings tufts of warm clouds, shaking the palm leaves as if they'd been tickled and were giving a hearty laugh in response.

Third, water crashing and pulling away and then crashing again reminded Max of a kind of dance, a familiar dance orchestrated by a clever moon, whose visage appeared rippled in the magical undulations of the deep waters below. The water would destroy the shore, and the shore would take the abuse unrelenting, as if this was how it was meant to be, as if the push and pull carried on outside of all other relationships. It calmed her just to be here.

Planting herself in the sand next to the soon-to-be campfire, Max stared out at the shore, romanced by its sparking beauty, and leaned back on her elbows.

"Beautiful tonight," Alec said, mirroring her relaxed stature after the fire had been going for a while.

Max was staring up at the sky, entranced by all the stars she could see here that she couldn't see in Seattle. Alec stared at her face, her jaw line pointed up and out, the stars reflecting in her wide eyes. She hummed in agreement.

The parts of moonlight that touched her skin directed his gaze; slight shimmer along her neckline, soft haloes at the backs of her hands, glistening diamonds at the curve of her lips as if they'd been dusted in pure stars. He couldn't tear his eyes away. If anyone else was on this beach tonight, he would never know.

She was blushing. She knew she was. She felt like he was appreciating her, and dared not break the spell by looking back at him.

_Screw it,_ she thought, tilting her head toward him at an angle. He drew in a small breath, lips parted in awe, eyes sparking in a vast hazel-green ocean sprinkled with reflections which mirrored the view before them. He focused his stare into hers, then at her lips, and leaned forward.


	29. Anytime

Alone in the tub, he saw, legs stretched out as far as the porcelain wood let them, arms resting on the sides, waiting.

Waiting for her was like waiting for a bomb to drop. You're on high alert in mere anticipation, and you weren't prepared, you were completely destroyed in her wake (though, he'd argue, in a good way, seeing as how their shared brand of fallout tended to overflow with passion).

He let the steam from the water press on his skin like a thick fog over the earth, and felt her scent seep into his bones. She was a part of him.

"Finally," he said, a half-smile adorning his lips. He didn't have to open his eyes – she had arrived. She had stepped out of her clothes and lowered one slender leg into the water.

And as he had a hundred times before, he moved his legs, bending at the knees, raising them up to accommodate her weight. The water level changed as he felt her scoot back into his frame. She lay against his naked form, completely content. He knew she was smiling.

"I missed you today," he said conversationally. "Thought I saw you round the corner at Command while I was out back with the Sixes."

"Mmmmm," he felt, more than heard, her response as she settled against him more fully. "This is my favorite place to be, you know," he heard her say as she twisted her long hair into a bun.

"I know," he responded. "It's become mine, too." And it had. Every few days, he'd come home and start boiling pots of water, preparing for their bath, preparing for their shared time.

"I still can't believe you didn't take baths before we were together."

He chuckled. "You say it like I never bathed before."

"Some days, I questioned that very idea."

"Hey, you're the one who dragged me around the sewers all the live-long day."

"What can I say? I love baths."

He smiled again. He remembered the way her devilish smirk proved that she could be naughty as easily as he could, and take advantage of just how much he loved her to get something she wanted. Like a hot, drawn bath with him in it.

"And I love you."

Some water displaced as he felt her drag her fingertips up his legs and stop at his knees. "I love you, too, Max," he said. "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for you."

"But I'm right here," he heard her respond.

And as he brought his arms down to encircle her, and opened his eyes, all he could see was his own hands, grasping desperately at the ghost-like steam.


	30. Hiding

We've been laying in the dark now for over two hours, and I know I need to get him out of here before Cindy wakes up, but he's nestled himself in my neck with his arms around my torso like he's hanging on for genetically-enhanced life, and I just can't bring myself to disentangle from him. Not when he needs me like this.

It started a few nights ago, this…whatever you want to call it. He showed up at my apartment, confused, incoherent, mumbling and stuttering, eyes desperate with incomprehensible – I don't know – fear, maybe. It really wasn't clear to me then.

But I did the only thing I could think of: I traced the pad of my thumb over his cheekbone and circled my hand around to pull him by the neck and press him to me in a hug. I could feel his heartbeat pounding into my chest, but as I stroked his hair and he buried his head in my neck, he began to calm down, heartbeat pumping a gentler rhythm between us.

I wondered at the time if that was his first hug or at least the first one he wasn't obligated by mission parameters to accept – or return, for that matter.

I'm not sure how Cindy would have reacted to what she could have seen that night, or every night since then: a very – dare I say – _emotional_ Alec, lying horizontal and, pressed seemingly intimately, to yours truly.

I don't even know what's going on with him, but how am I supposed to explain to my girl how he's in my bed, touching the tiny part of my back that's exposed, murmuring wordlessly and breathing against my neck, clutching to me as if I'm his lifeline, and how I'm touching him all over right back? How I've never seen him so calm, and vulnerable, despite how he doesn't say one word during the nights, nor talk about it during the days? How, when he's against me, something deep inside me feels the need to be there for him, with him?

Tonight, earlier than what has become normal, he let himself in, quiet as a stealth-model X-series, crept to my room, my bed, and panicked when I wasn't there. I was drying off from my bath as quickly as I could, and when hastily slipped on my bathrobe, entered my room, and shut my door, he crossed the distance between us, bent down, and wrapped his arms around my still-damp body.

Naked except for my bathrobe and Alec pressed against me… I'm kinda freaking out. Because it feels _right_.

I can't explain how I know he needs the connection. How we both do.

Luckily, Cindy's not awake, yet.


	31. Swimming in Your Ocean

Alec rolled Max to her back and knelt between her thighs as she cocked her head to the side, watching his expressions change. He smiled a big goofy smile, surprised at everything she'd just said. "You sure?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with deep passion.

Max couldn't help but mirror his elation, a wide grin splitting her face as she nodded. "Absoultely."

Drifting over her, Alec started a soft, languid kiss. Max's hands wove into and pulled him by his hair as she parted her lips to deepen the kiss. Scooping around her lower back, Alec felt the room grow hotter, their kissing becoming more breathless, until he broke away to pull off his shirt.

Max smiled at the sight of him bare-chested. "Now I'm wearing too many clothes," she countered, partially sitting up to remove her t-shirt.

Alec leaned back town, touching his skin to hers. Max felt the pressure of his erection pushing against his jeans and against her center. "Really sure?" he asked, eyes and smile both shining bright.

Max grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him closer. "Really sure."

Excitedly, Alec backed off of her, stood, and removed his jeans and boxers, keeping his eyes on Max's body as she also divested herself of the remaining clothing. For a moment, they were silent, staring lovingly at one another.

Finally, Max gave in. "Get over here."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, crawling between her knees.

In one fluid motion, he pushed up into her. Her eyes fluttered in pleasure as they began a steady rhythm. They made love for hours, until Alec's fast metabolism demanded sustenance to continue, and despite the momentary eating break, for hours after that.

At 3AM, the pair lay in bed tangled and spent, and stared into one another's eyes.

"You really meant what you said, didn't you?"

Max's nose crinkled playfully. "About wanting to start a family? About being the mother of your children?"

His eyes lit up with the promise and hope of being a father, and Max being his children's mother, of Max being his wife, his Mate.

"One hundred percent."

Alec craned his neck to look to her abdomen. "You think there's a little Alec junior in there? Or a Max-" he paused, eyebrows quirking up. "What's 'junior' for girls?"

Max leaned forward and kissed him softly.

"No, really, what do you call a girl named after her mother?"

Max pulled at the back of his rib cage with one hand. "Come here, Alec. These babies aren't gonna make themselves!"

"Bab_ies_?" he asked. The prospect of multiple children with Max… well, it was like a dream to him.

She nodded.

Alec lowered his head and rested his forehead against hers.


	32. Don't Let Me Know

He wished he hadn't met her, because now, having discovered her under the stairs with him, being devoured and face twisted up in ecstasy, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to forget her.

He wished it wasn't true, that this whole time, she hadn't been meant to be with one of her own kind. He wished it wasn't true that she'd fisted her hands in _his_ shirt and pulled _him_ toward her.

He wished he didn't have to look away, half to try to stave off the pain of seeing her so happy at someone else's touch – someone who wasn't him – and half to remove his glasses; a futile effort to rub the unfair images off on his button-up as if they'd been specs of dirt.

He wished he could be angry at her, but she hadn't lied when she said _they_ were together. She hadn't liked when she said he had to let her go, that she was suffocating. She hadn't lied when she said she knew him well enough to know they couldn't be around one another for a while. And she hadn't lied when her expression revealed how scared of him she'd been that night, when she'd broken in during the brownout to leave Joshua's necklace on his white board.

Replacing his glasses, he saw their darkened movements, unapologetically voyeuristic as he watched _him_ touch her. Watched _him_ sweep his fingertips along her collarbone and pull the neck of her top over a bare shoulder. Watch _him _cover her smooth skin with the warmth of his mouth. Watch _him_ hold her rib cage with such confidence. Watch _him_ taste her.

He wished he could blame her for how she'd broken his heart.

He just needed to back off, disappear for a while. He didn't know if he was capable of being the friend she would turn to when things inevitably went awry. When _he_ messed up. Not after seeing this display. Not after seeing how close they actually were.

She reached out to put her arms around the dark blonde's neck and pulled him into a deep, intimate kiss. Even from the bar, he could see the way their tongues echoed the sensuality by which he'd been tortured in his worst nightmares.

He backed her further against the wall under the stairs. When she raised a leg to circle around his waist and their bodies grinded in place, he saw _his_ arm disappear between them, gone to some place not visible, and her resulting sharp intake of breath. They broke apart, breathless, and exchanged some very quiet, and by the looks of it, intimate words, before hurrying out of the bar, leaving their unknown audience to his scotch.


	33. What's Love Got to Do with It?

"Get your hands off me," Alec said.

"Why?" Max baited, letting her warm hands rest over his. "Afraid I'm gonna feel your pulse speed up just from my touch?" She caressed the backs of his hands, looking at the thin line of where their hands touched.

He was blushing. He was most definitely blushing. She'd observed over the past few weeks that he'd been doing that quite a bit. It both terrified and excited her – the anticipation of his response.

"No. Your touch does nothing to me," he quipped, his pupils dilating.

"Sure," she said, stepping closer to him. He was already leaning against the wall and could step no further back. "So when I do this," she purred, sliding her open palms up his chest, over his clavicle and around to the nape of his neck, barely tickling his barcode with her fingertips, "you have absolutely no reaction."

His eyes were closed, reveling in her barest touch as he rested with his back against the brick interior of Crash. His mouth was shut tight, but she could feel the tension in his body – he was balancing on a taut wire, ready to snap. His skin thrummed at her touch.

He cleared his throat and looked down through heavy lids. "Not at all," he said lowly.

"And when I do this?" she said, rocking forward and kissing his neck just under his jaw line. Her lips were just as soft as her touch, if not softer, and it felt feather light against his stubbled neck.

He exhaled audibly and sunk down a few inches on the wall, bringing him closer to her height. "Still nothing," he flirted, staring into her eyes with reigned passion. It was a challenge.

"And how about this?" Switching to the other side of his neck, Max tongued at the skin behind his ear, letting her taste buds rub against the soft skin there as he turned his head to give her better access.

A groan deep within him reverberated through their bodies. "Mmmm," he hummed. "You know, you are really bad at this."

With their bodies touching, Max understood every twitch and movement his body made. She understood the desire, captive behind his shy mask, and the way his heart beat faster with every second.

She smiled knowingly and slid one hand into his hair, pulling him forward. She brought his lips to hers and kissed him softly, and slowly. He let her control the speed of their kiss and was surprised as how slowly she savored him. Motivated by her tongue's languid strokes, he circled his arms around her, lifted her to her tiptoes to gain easier access, and tilted his head to deepen their kiss.


	34. Call My Bluff

They'd just reached the sewer sublevel when Alec finally said something. They'd been accompanied until they reached the sublevel, and Alec had been grinding his teeth the whole time. Max knew she'd messed up, but she'd had no choice.

"Can you explain to me why you're always in such a rush to blame me? Not like I haven't thought about it, but Max, I'm not the type of guy to steal another guy's girl."

Max's jaws clenched. "I'm not some guy's girl!"

Alec rolled his eyes. "Oh, save it. I know. You're 'not like that.'"

"That's not what I meant, jackass! I'm not someone's property to be stolen."

"Yes you are. You're the property of the U.S. government."

Max considered hitting him. "You know what I meant. It's disgusting and insulting."

"Then why'd you say it was me?"

Max took a deep breath. She knew the answer. Alec was an endurance model – lean and muscular in all the right places, not to mention he was pretty easy on the eyes and could physically do more than Logan. And he had been hanging around her the whole year. She knew Alec was intimidating to Logan. And when Logan saw them together, everything fell into place. "I had to push him away," she finally answered.

Alec turned his stare back forward and kept walking, playing through the scenario in his mind. It made sense that Max would push Logan away with him, but only if there was something already there between them. If it was believable, it was because there was something between them.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he almost missed her question.

"Wait a minute, you've thought about it?" she accused, on the verge of smiling.

"Of course. I'm a red-blooded American man," he started. "I'd have to be dead not to have thought about it."

Max was taken aback. As Alec continued forward, she asked, "Really?"

For a moment, Alec didn't answer. He stopped walking, turned to face her, and with a serious and honest expression, answered. "Yeah, really."

"Well how come you never said anything?"

Alec turned to start walking again, sighing in frustration that he had allowed the conversation to continue this long. "Because I'd rather not be castrated. Besides, I kinda did."

Max caught up to him, thinking back through the things he had said in the past.

"You were always distracted," he added.

"No I wasn't. I'd remember if you said anything. You haven't. You've never even looked at or talked to me the same way you do other women."

"That's because you're not some vapid, obvious automaton," he bit back at her audacity to presume she knew his style.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Besides, I did try that when we first met, but as usual, you were distracted, and it never would have worked anyway."

"So you're saying you _are_ the kind of guy who'd steal another guy's girl."

"No. I'm only suggesting that given our history, now you'd know if I was coming on to you."

"By all the intense staring and sweet caresses you're known for?" she replied sarcastically.

Finally fed up, Alec stopped in his tracks, pushed her to the wall, and held her body there with his. "You'd know because I wouldn't love you from a distance, I'd love you up close with _every_ piece of me. And it wouldn't be pansy-ass hand holding and eternal stares, it'd be the way we were built: hard and rough," he said through gritted teeth, pushing his body intimately against hers until she gasped, wide-eyed and with expanding pupils, before continuing, "breathless and with bared teeth and pounding hearts, and always riding that wicked line between misery and ecstasy."


	35. We Do What We Can

From upstairs on top of the covers, I imagine the club with a new, abstract form where Clooney used to sit. He used to tickle at the keys with practiced ease and comfort, dimly lit by low-hanging lights and obscured by smoke. But they got a new pianist.

With my enhanced hearing, I can hear everything down there. I can hear the mourning cello, the sorrowed guitar, the purring percussion, the resonating piano, and the salty smoothness the velvety vocalist brings to the mic every night.

I can hear how twin hearts find a rhythm in their magic, maybe a hand held or a dance shared in the shadows, a heavy-lidded gaze followed by their scampering, deliberate departure.

I can hear the girls at the bar gossip about the new guy, all rugged and straight lines and calloused hands and young.

The landlord said it'd be noisy, but I have shark DNA anyway and I knew what I was getting myself into, even during the unbearably hot nights like tonight, when I lay on my bed with barely a stitch on, and let the heat and vibrations and emotions rise up through my floor, through my bed, through me.

But tonight, the new guy plays alone, and it is haunting. For the first time since I moved here, I imagine someone else's hands all over my body – rugged, calloused, haunted hands playing against me until I cry out.

He plays like he made my choices. He plays like it is his room above the club, like he is up her, not me. Somehow he plays everything I am now.

After three in the morning and downstairs, he's as quiet as I am upstairs, reflecting on the choices we've made to survive, and before I can feel it throughout my bones, he's playing again. Playing my song.

Maybe his song, too.

He's in rare form tonight, probably his true form. By the way he plucks the piano so painfully, so soulfully, I think it might be my penance – that I should take it where I can, when I can. And I can take it here, now.

Downstairs, I peek through the door's small window which separates us. I can see him, hard at this business of changing the music in our lives, bent over the keys as if in prayer, and I realize that those girls are right: rugged, straight lines, calloused hands, young; and I am right: haunted.

He's handsome, and rough, and it doesn't take me very long to figure out I want him, or to be startled when he looks up and pins me with a stare, lips slightly parted, low light showing a depth in his eyes beyond memory.


End file.
